


Reunion

by gloster_meteor



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloster_meteor/pseuds/gloster_meteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave spends three years helping Shockwave rebuild Megatron's body; he and Megatron take an early opportunity to relearn each other's frames. Blatantly ignores Spotlight: Megatron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

Soundwave watched, hidden entirely in the shadows behind Megatron’s throne as Starscream scrambled backward, thrusters igniting as he launched himself away from his incensed leader, who was stalking forward, a snarl twisting his face and weapon arm upraised. He observed silently as Starscream transformed and took flight, fleeing as soon as his surroundings afforded him the room. A wingtip struck sparks against a wall as the seeker misjudged a turn in his haste. 

It was entirely inappropriate of him to react to the sight of Megatron asserting his superiority with a surge of lust and vindictive satisfaction. But while he was more than sufficiently skilled to prevent any visible signs of his reaction, as he watched Starscream’s form shrink into the distance, he found his emotions undeniable. The sight of Starscream being so thoroughly castigated for his failures would never fail to be enjoyable, and Megatron never seemed quite so alluring as when he was at his most imposing—as long as his wrath wasn’t directed at Soundwave.

His point made, Soundwave was unsurprised when Megatron saw no reason to pursue his traitorous, incompetent, but insufferably  _necessary_  second. The blue mech emerged from his customary place as Megatron lowered his arm, the whine of his charged rail-gun fading faster than his scowl. He drew level with the throne, then paused, waiting there unmoving as Megatron paced, jaw clenched; in deference to his leader, Soundwave merely ghosted over Megatron’s mind, feeling the superficial rage there and little more. 

Ever the obedient, subservient subject, Soundwave simply stood, waiting patiently for a sign that his lord was ready for him to speak. Thus, it was only when Megatron seated himself once more, optics offlined and fingers pinching his nasal ridge in a gesture of frustration that only a very few of his followers were ever allowed to see, that Soundwave spoke.

“Megatron: state of—,“ he began, only to falter when Megatron lifted his helm and fixed him with an intense, almost assessing gaze; he had only just opened his mouth to begin again when Megatron interrupted, cutting Soundwave off with with a gesture.

“Enough, Soundwave. I will deal with that later,” he said dismissively, though an odd note was present in his voice. He paused for a moment in consideration before continuing, “Right now… Come here.” With his upraised hand, Megatron beckoned the mech over, motioning for Soundwave to sit on his lap.

Soundwave had absolutely no intent to ignore such an offer, considering what he had only just witnessed, and a moment later he was straddling his leader—his lover’s—lap. His helm tipped up to meet Megatron’s gaze as the larger mech placed a hand on the sound of his face, a thumb slowly stroking over the silver of his mask with a gentleness seen by just as few as his earlier moment of vulnerability. The touch sent a thrill of pleasure racing through Soundwave’s wiring—even for a Cybertronian such as he, three years had been a long time.

As eminently comfortable with Megatron as Megatron was with him, Soundwave made no protest when the tables were turned and it was he who was the observed, not the observer. His hands rose to rest on Megatron’s dark chest, the fingers of one hand running along the slats almost curiously. This form was new to both of them—though Soundwave had been marginally involved in the design and construction, that had hardly presented an opportunity to become as intimately acquainted with the intricacies of his lover’s frame as he had been previously. And in the short time since Megatron had been reinstated, there had been little time. Soundwave was looking forward to relearning how to wring pleasure from Megatron’s frame.

He allowed his field to spread, delving deeply into Megatron’s processor, any prior reservations he had had against it dissolving when the larger mech had made his current intent clear. The other black hand came to rest on a blue hip, a thumb tracing the outline of one of his buttons as Soundwave began to explore the plating before him, not neglecting a single inch. And, intertwined with Megatron’s mind in such a way that it was nearly his own, Soundwave felt very  _intimately_  the effects of each of his touches. The brush of a fingertip here, a tweak of a wire there, and Soundwave found that Megatron’s ventilations were already beginning to increase, his core temperature rising slowly.  

Then, abruptly, Soundwave stilled, fingers unconsciously tightening momentarily on Megatron’s plating as the mech tilted his face up, tapping at the mask that was still in place. 

“Let me see you,” he rumbled. Even considering their long history, it was only through countless vorns of practice that Soundwave was able to maintain optic contact with Megatron as he retracted both his visor and mask. He felt so vulnerable without it, his every thought surely being read via his expressions, but… This was Megatron, with whom he trusted his life.

And Megatron did not disappoint him, bending down just enough to press a kiss to Soundwave’s now-exposed lips; Soundwave’s optics flickered offline as he returned it, a hand making its way up to wrap around the back of Megatron’s neck. The smaller mech reveled in the contact, enjoying it as fully as he possibly could—three years were nothing when weighed against their near-immortality, but it had still been a long time.

And then the kiss broke, Soundwave letting his helm fall to Megatron’s shoulder as black hands caressed his sides, finding familiar gaps in armor, beneath which sensitive bundles of wiring lay. He wrapped his arms around Megatron’s shoulders, his fingers ghosting along armor that was only barely known to him, his mouth occupying itself with the edge of Megatron’s helm.

Megatron’s far-larger form nearly enveloped Soundwave’s, his arms wrapping around the blue mech as he followed the seams between armor plates. Both of them had yet to even approach their interface panels, but charge was already beginning to sing through Soundwave’s circuitry, each of Megatron’s touches sending a surge of electricity through him like a tongue of flame. Soundwave buried his face in the crook of the now-jet’s neck, the moan that escaped him vibrating through the black plating.

At the sound, Megatron let out a wry chuckle and pulled Soundwave back slightly, tilting his head up again and pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. His other hand made its way back down Soundwave’s side, a thumb running along the yellow border of his chest compartment, fingers trailing delicately along the silver of his abdomen, making their way across the buttons to finally pause on the blue of his pelvic plating. Soundwave pressed into the touch readily, and in response Megatron smirked, though the expression lacked malice.

“Eager, hmm?” Megatron traced the edges of Soundwave’s interface panel idly; it was impossible to miss the heat beginning to emanate from behind it. Soundwave shifted, angling his hips into the touch as best he could, wanting—no,  _needing_ , now _—_ more than that teasingly light touch. His valve was beginning to self-lubricate just from having Megatron  _here_  and  _functional_  once more. The teasing was just adding to his frustration.

“Affirmative,” he answered, any self-consciousness overcome by the long familiarity between them. He took advantage of the close proximity of Megatron’s midsection, slipping his fingers under the edge of the cockpit and ghosting over the sensitive components he knew he’d find there; he was rewarded with a rumble of approval and pleasured appreciation that vibrated from his fingertips the whole way up to his shoulder joints.

Megatron chuckled again, then tapped lightly on Soundwave’s interface panel, just as he had his mask. Soundwave knew the request for what it was, and allowed his panel to retract without even the slightest hesitation, baring his array for his lover. And, Primus be praised, Megatron didn’t make him wait any longer, one black hand sliding down between his spread thighs to trace the already-slick outer rim of his valve. And then, mercifully, a finger began to slowly enter him.

“So wet for me, Soundwave,” Megatron said, his smugness audible in his voice. As enjoyable as it was to subdue his followers through judicious applications of force, it was incredibly gratifying to have a lover so willing, so  _eager_  after so little.

Soundwave responded first with a shift of his hips, offlining his optics again trying to force that finger more deeply inside his valve, before pausing suddenly. He leaned forward against the black chest before him and laid the side of his helm against the plating, idly tracing the glowing purple accents. 

“Incapacitation: lengthy.” It was the closest he would get to saying ‘I missed you,’ and both of them knew it. Megatron acknowledged the admission with a soothing stroke across Soundwave’s helm.

“I am functional once more,” he said reassuringly, then set to proving his restored vitality.

To the finger still in Soundwave’s valve, he added a second, slowly thrusting, setting sensor nodes alight—Soundwave slowly began to come undone, his attempts to remain as expressionless as he was while wearing his mask foiled by his gasping ventilations and the involuntary twitches of  his hips. He held tightly to his lover, clinging to the streamlined black shoulders as waves of pleasure surged through him with each movement of Megatron’s fingers.

And then, abruptly, the fingers were gone, but before he could voice the desperate whine threatening to emerge from his vocalizer, Megatron’s hands settling on his hips and gently lifting him. Soundwave’s processor was already increasingly hazed with pleasure, but it was impossible for him to miss the click of Megatron’s panel retracting, or the quiet hiss of hydraulics as his spike pressurized. He arched in an uncharacteristically wanton attempt to lower himself onto it, but Megatron was far stronger than he—and  _oh_ , but that was a wonderfully arousing thought in and of itself—and he stayed exactly where he was, valve entrance poised scant inches above the tip of that exquisite spike.

Soundwave wasn’t sure if it was due to the simple length of time that had passed since they had last interfaced, or if it was his relief at having Megatron returned to him, or if it was the demonstration of Megatron’s sheer strength but he needed… he  _needed_ —

And then he almost sobbed with relief, because his partner had relented at last, and he could feel the blunt head just beginning to enter him, spreading the calipers wide, the first hint of the intense stretch he knew awaited him just beginning to appear. Soundwave’s optics were offline as he luxuriated in the flood of sensation, and Megatron loosened his grip on the blue plating just enough to allow Soundwave the freedom to slowly begin to lower himself onto the large spike only just beginning to fill him, forcing it deeper and deeper inside  himself.

What seemed an interminable length of time later, their pelvic plating touched, Soundwave completely filled by the thick spike within him. Soundwave was unable to suppress a gasp as it pressed firmly against the end of his valve, igniting the terminal sensor nodes with a blaze of electricity crackling along his wiring. The lining of his valve was stretched tightly around Megatron’s spike, each sensor node pressed into contact with it, each slight shift he made translating into a veritable flood of exquisite charge. His valve rippled instinctively around the intrusion, the sudden tightness coaxing a rumble of pleasure from Megatron.

Soundwave was as motionless as was physically possible, sitting atop his partner’s lap and panting, fingers flexing against the black armor as he tried to control himself, tried to contain himself to a point where he could move without being overwhelmed. It seemed to be an exercise in futility. It had been so  _long_. He could hear Megatron’s ventilations, the sound of the cooling fans whirring loud in the near-silence, but it was nearly drowned out by the roar of static overlaid on everything he heard.

Megatron waited patiently for the smaller mech to adjust, helm bent over Soundwave’s, hands skimming angular blue plating, and it was only when it became clear that he was nearly insensate that Megatron moved, his hands coming to rest on Soundwave’s aft, lifting him enough for Megatron to begin to thrust shallowly into the tight, slick valve.

His charge built quickly,  current seeming to flow from his spike, from the wet heat where they were joined, and sluice through his systems in a cascade of intense, decadent pleasure. He had the fleeting thought that this was so very self-indulgent of him, abandoning his Decepticons in favor of interfacing with a cherished lover, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty—not with Soundwave arching and moaning in his lap with barely any semblance of self-restraint.

The black-armored mech leaned over Soundwave’s form, resting the top of his helm against Soundwave’s as he began to thrust with increasing force into the rippling, spasming valve around his spike. He gripped Soundwave’s writhing hips tightly, transitioning into the rough, driving rhythm that he knew his lover so enjoyed.

And, indeed, the smaller mech keened in his arms, gasping for air to cool his overheating systems, desperately hanging onto the final shreds of his control. His valve’s calipers rippled spasmodically around Megatron’s spike, sending a surge of electricity blazing through his circuitry and eliciting a deep moan from the larger mech and a snap of his hips, sending his spike as deeply into Soundwave’s valve as it would go. Soundwave was close, he could tell, and at the moment, his processor hazy with the charge crackling through him, what Megatron wanted most was to see his lover overcome by pleasure at  _his_  hand.

Suddenly determined to see exactly that, he dug his hands in between armor plating, wrapping wiring around his fingers, brushing his fingertips across sensitive internal components. He lowered his helm further, licking along the points of Soundwave’s helm. And then, without warning, he drove into Soundwave with a single deep, swift thrust, the head of his spike pressing against the densely-clustered ceiling nodes as he nipped at the tips of his lover’s blue crest.

Soundwave convulsed, blue sparks snapping between the two of them where their frames came into close contact, valve clamping down on the spike inside him as he was overcome, overloading with a cry of intense pleasure. Megatron resumed his rhythm through Soundwave’s overload, a groan escaping him as he steadily drove his own charge higher and higher.

Soundwave moaned brokenly, his arms wrapping around Megatron’s neck for something to cling to as he tumbled into a second overload right on the heels of the first; this time, the sudden flare of charge and the calipers cycling down on his spike proved to be too much for him, and he felt himself succumbing to the surge of sensation blazing through him. His spike erupted inside Soundwave, flooding the tightly-stretched valve with hot, charged transfluid as he roared his overload, pulling his partner’s blue pelvic plating flush with his own.

They both stilled, frames locked up by the force of their overloads, panting, their ventilation systems doing their best to dump the excess heat from their frames. After a moment, his frame began to tick as it cooled, Megatron’s hands rose from where they had been gripping blue hips to clutch Soundwave to him, one hand stroking his helm affectionately.

No words passed between them; none were needed. It was only when the mixed transfluid and lubricants trickling from Soundwave’s still-full valve began to cool and congeal that they reluctantly moved. Megatron lifted Soundwave off of his spike gently, setting him on his feet just long enough to swipe at his spike with a cloth pulled from subspace and tuck his equipment away. Soundwave did the same, and when he was clean, Megatron beckoned silently, gesturing with outstretched arms for the smaller mech to step into them; when Soundwave, ever obedient, did so, he was once again seated on the black jet’s lap. This time, however, he was positioned sideways, and he curled up on his lover’s lap, field radiating satiation and contentment, echoing what he found in Megatron’s mind as a black-plated hand idly stroked his helm.

They’d have to move, soon, and return to the droll business of organizing, monitoring, scaring an army into obedience. But for now… for now they would enjoy the few additional moments they could spare. It was time well-spent.


End file.
